


Life After Death

by missbloom



Category: Hannibal (TV), Red Dragon - Thomas Harris
Genre: F/M, I tried to include all the charcaters???, Molly forever will be Claire Danes idc who they end up casting, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Psychological Trauma, another angst fic written that accidentally caused and all-nighter, oh boy, tell me if i'm missing a sort of main one and I'll add them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1960113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbloom/pseuds/missbloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens in Will's and Alana's lives after the Accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life After Death

**Inspired by** :

Remembering Sunday by All Time Low and this photo from the movie Mr. Average.

* * *

ONE YEAR AFTER THE ACCIDENT

 

Alana was moving to France.

She needed to just... _go_ , get away from this place and the people and the memories.

Finding her old roommate in Paris was easy, Alana's French as fluent as it was when she participated in an internship overseas years ago, right after grad school. Setting up an apartment and a finding a job was easy, too, as was booking the flight.

Saying goodbye to Will, though, and what led up to that farewell, was the complete opposite of easy.

 

Alana was out of ICU before Will was, the way she had landed on the cement somehow only fracturing a few bones, breaking some ribs. It was a miracle she wasn't paralyzed or even dead.

Will was a different story.

They had to revive him three times after he got into ER, Alana hearing everything from where she laid on a gurney, waiting for something or someone, she couldn't remember.

The first words out of his mouth when they brought him back for good was a gargled, “Alana...”

“Will. Will, I'm here. I'm okay.”

A few moments later when they rushed him past her to OR did she realize he was crying.

 

Two weeks later Alana was allowed out of bed, her begging getting on the nurses' last nerves. They helped her to his room, to his bed side, saying he didn't wake up much because of his medication. She didn't care, just wanted to see him, to hold his hand and watch him breathe.

She wanted to remind herself that he was alive.

 

After they were both out of the hospital, Alana and Applesauce were practically permanent residents at his place, wanting to be there in case either of them needed any assistance while they were healing.

Neither of them fully healed, though. Not completely.

Alone in the house for an hour the day after he stopped his meds, Will got drunk. Alana returned with groceries to find him sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a glass of whiskey, a mostly empty bottle beside him that she knew was full when she left just 60 minutes ago.

Before she could even say a word besides his name, he was up and on her lips, pushing her wide-eyed body back against the wall and kissing her sloppily, telling her how much he loved her.

Of course she loved him too, in a way, but...

Will woke up in the morning to only the company of dogs, minus one, and a killer headache.

 

The next time he saw her, months later, her hair was blonde. “Why....?”

“Don't ask,” She noticed he was different too, his hair shorter than normal, his breath reeking of whiskey just like it was the last time they were together.

They figured the accident fucked them both up.

“Abigail let me visit,” Will talked about her a lot, but the young girl didn't seem to want to be involved with him.

“Yeah? How is she doing?”

He shrugged, “Great. She told me to fuck off.”

It seemed like everyone was doing okay but them, actually. They were the ones that got too close, that took most of it for the team.

Jack was okay, well, as okay as he could be with a dying wife. Chilton was back at the reigns of the BSHCI. Matthew Brown, the guy who tried to kill Hannibal for Will, was okay. In jail that wasn't Baltimore State, but still better than them. Peter, the animal guy, was getting help, doing good. Miriam was settling back into her life, and Freddie was continuing to do her thing.

It even seemed like the Vergers were keeping their heads above the water, some way, some how, and it was only Will and Alana who were drowning.

 

Will stopped asking her to marry him after the fourth or fifth time she said no, after she explained why they couldn't be together; Hannibal and Bedelia may be missing, but the former was still holding on to them tight, keeping them from ever being who they once were, from ever being able to be together in the way they both desperately wanted to be.

Sometimes Will would kiss her in attempt to get that spark going again; she let him, wanting to try too. They attempted making love a few times, but both of them felt like shit after so they stopped. Even after all that, Alana still stayed at his house more than she did her own. He was the only person she could really be around anymore, even if they hardly spoke.

 

They were sitting at a diner on a Sunday morning, having a nice, simple breakfast, when Alana told him of her plans to go overseas in about a month, how she'd let him keep Applesauce.

After she spoke, Will's two eggs and toast didn't seem all that appetizing anymore. He took a sip of his suddenly bitter coffee, “I'm surprised you didn't leave sooner, actually.”

That made her smile.

They had sex one last time that night, goodbye sex of sorts even though she didn't leave for weeks. Both of them cried quietly when they were done, and once again Alana was gone in the morning.

 

Will received a text telling him to meet her at the airport; he was there in 20, spotting her instantly in her red, wool pea coat which was dotted with darker spots from where the rain drops had landed, blonde hair pulled up in a pony tail. They smiled and hugged, Will taking her hand and holding it for as long as he could.

No words were said between them the entire time, the love and sorrow swimming in their eyes enough to leave them feeling conversationally satisfied.

They hugged again, the rough marital of Will's sweater tickling Alana's chin, her passport in the hand that wasn't holding his. She held on until they stepped apart, smiling her beautiful smile that meant everything to him as her fingers fell from his, leaving them cold.

He stood in that very spot, his hands in his pockets, until her airplane slipped out of view.

Somehow they both knew that that had been the last time they would ever see each other like this.

 

For the next few days, Will wasn't sober for more than a second.

He kept dreaming of his Alana, of her curls and face, the way her nose scrunched up every time he made her laugh.

He kept dreaming of everything that made him fall in love with her.

A police officer dropped him off at his house one early morning, a woman far down the road calling on him for pounding on her door at 2am, his slurred voice asking if she'd seen some Bloom person. She said he did the same for the neighbors, too, going door to door until someone told him that yes, they knew the person in question, but she moved away a few days ago...

Will was still on his knees on the person's sidewalk when the cops got there, practically unresponsive when they picked him up, took him to the car.

He didn't go to bed when he got home, but he grabbed another beer instead and sat on his couch, staring at the wall until he passed out some time after the sun had long been up.

 

Three months after Alana left, Will received the French version of her obituary in the mail. It came in an unmarked envelope along with her starfish necklace and a note that read, in the good doctor's distinguishable penmanship,

> “ _My dear Will,  
>  You must be healed by now... on the outside, at least. I hope you're not too ugly. What a collection of scars you have. Never forget who gave you the best of them, and be grateful, our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real. We live in a primitive time, don't we, Will? Neither savage or wise. Half measures of the curse of it, any rational society will either kill me or put me to some use. Do you dream much, Will? I think of you often.  
>  Your old friend, Hannibal Lecter_ ”

Will took the note to Quantico the next day and Dr. Lecter was back in the states by the end of the month, being put under Chilton's oh so loving care.

 

After Alana's funeral, Will gave all his dogs--including Applesauce and Winston--to Zeller and Price. He went and saw Beverly, too, apologized that he couldn't give her the dogs instead.

That very night he packed up and was in Florida late the next day.

That's where he met Molly Foster.

Her and her young boy, Willy of all names, helped ease the pain of the love of his life forever gone from him, but they never erased it completely. Especially Molly, with her blonde hair and beaming smile; he thinks that's why he married her, because she reminded him so much of Alana.

The night of their wedding he gave her the necklace. She didn't refuse it, knowing it meant so much to him for reasons he just couldn't get out. She never took it off, and Will touched it whenever he could.

 

Years later when Jack came to corral Will one last time, her husband took the necklace with him.

Will didn't return with it. He didn't return with his old self, either. At first he was quiet, a little reserved, but then he was laughing more, telling her things about his past she had no clue even happened.

He told her about the necklace in the hospital the night this face got messed up, and she kissed him. Kissed him more passionately than ever before, “I love you, Will. Maybe not as much as Alana did, but I still do.”

A few tears and a smile were his only response, his eyes flickering over to see the brown-haired love of his life, the woman who was just now a figment of his imagination to be remembered about on occasion, waving him goodbye one last time, a silver starfish resting upon her chest.


End file.
